


Force Our Smiles

by neverthesameperson



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Abuse of Power, Established Relationship, M/M, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverthesameperson/pseuds/neverthesameperson
Summary: Pete pushes his head back into the wall behind him, wishing it could just envelop him. He looks up, and whispers a prayer; his first in years.It went something along the lines of: “God, please, please, please, get me to a safe place. Make him go away. Make him fall asleep so I can run.”
Relationships: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	Force Our Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for blood, self harm and a rape scene. I do not condone any of the actions depicted in this work or have any hate towards the character that does this, it's just fiction.

He’s sat on the floor next to a locked bathroom door, terrified. A mix of blood and his own climax has coagulated into a slick line down his inner thigh, as if a wounded snail has crawled out of him and vanished right above his knee. 

On the other side of the door, listening intently to his fractured hyperventilations, is his boyfriend. The person he had planned a whole life with. The person who had come into his life as an unexpected burst of blue sky. The person who, on his birthday one year, had planned a South Park-themed surprise party for him and invited only the people he loved. Pete remembers how Mikey had sat on the edge of the bathtub and smiled as he changed into a Kenny costume. They laughed and laughed as they wrangled the big orange hood over his face. He thought he had found his forever. 

Mikey pushes his ear against the door and traces the P he carved into the side of his wrist.

“Pete,” he pauses and his resentment hangs in the air. “You need to clean yourself up now.”

Mikey’s voice doesn’t sound like his own. It has lost its sing-song trill and upward inflection. He sounds severe but calm, two traits that he’d never really had before. 

Pete pushes his head back into the wall behind him, wishing it could just envelop him. He looks up, and whispers a prayer; his first in years. 

It went something along the lines of: “God, please, please, please, get me to a safe place. Make him go away. Make him fall asleep so I can run.”

A year ago, Pete and Mikey were on a train, wrapped in each other’s arms after a Green Day concert. They should have been finished with the infatuation and butterflies that come with the honeymoon stage, but four years in and they were inseparable. 

What had started as a friendship in high school, when they would dismiss their girl crushes at parties just so they could be alone, soon turned into more than either were ready for. It started gradually, from holding hands on the bus, to spending all their savings on presents for each other that were so secret, so esoteric, that they further crystallised their impenetrable enclosure. 

Then one night Pete awoke to feel Mikey’s face so close to his that if he pursed his lips they would be kissing. Pete imagined turning his head away and laughing if Mikey got closer, but instead he waited, and waited; his heartbeat pounding through his ears. 

The kiss wasn’t weird or repulsive, it was exactly the opposite. It was two men unlearning everything they thought love was meant to be, and opening a new door in their hearts. 

Six months ago, they were at a party on the coast when Pete had walked off with a girl. Mikey caught them kissing and when he smashed his own head against a brick wall in a fit of rage, he needed six stitches. 

Hours ago, they’d rented a cabin just outside the city to see whether the relationship could be salvaged. 

Moments ago, Mikey held Pete down on the bed and despite the surprised screams, the flailing arms and tears, Mikey forced his dick inside him and thrusted his bitter, unresolved hate into a body that soon turned limp, a body that had given up. 

“Come like the whore you are,” Mikey spat through bare teeth. 

And Pete had obeyed, orgasming into his own stifled cries. 

Minutes passed, then hours. Pete had to be sure Mikey had fallen asleep before he allowed the click of the lock to sound down the hallway. He opens it carefully but stands tall to prove he’s resilient.

Mikey isn’t in the bedroom. Instead he’s sat at the kitchen table nursing a glass of water and staring at nothing in particular. Pete briefly imagines taking that glass and smashing it against Mikey’s head. He’d like to see Mikey fall to the floor as a small pool of blood spilled out behind him like a forming halo. Just like in the movies. 

Mikey looks up at Pete with a menacing smirk; again, completely unrecognisable. He takes in the sight of his blood-stained thigh against his shorts, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his phone in his hand. He considers what Pete’s next move might be and he hopes it’s violence. He’s already dead anyway. 

Pete slowly walks over to Mikey. It’s an awkward seven steps, but they feel deliberate and each one seems less threatening than the last. He puts his hand on Mikey’s shoulder. 

“I forgive you,” he says, already feeling his power return to his limbs. 

Mikey’s face changes and he starts crying. He seems to be smaller and smaller as he hunches forward and buries his wet sobs in his hands. 

His dank, blackened spirit had turned almost sickly. He’s no longer threatening or strong, he’s a little boy who looks like he’s woken up from a nightmare, only to find it’s his reality.

After removing his hand from Mikey’s shoulder, Pete turns and walks out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> If you or someone you know have been impacted by rape or sexual assault, please seek help from your country's domestic violence hotline.   
> In Australia, it's 1800 RESPECT, or 1800 737 732


End file.
